The Clock Behind My Heart
by yra
Summary: Ginny waits for Harry to come home... Redone! Didn't like the original, so I tried something different.
1. The Clock Has Stopped

_Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish I owned them all…_

_A/N: I tried this once, and I didn't like how it came out. So I'm trying it again. Instead of one chapter, I lengthened the story out a bit. Plus I gave Ginny a bit more spunk. She was a little too damsel-in-distress in the original version. Thanks, though, to the three who reviewed the first try: Mariah, Tanja, HJWG. And now, round two!_

_"A woman can forgive a man for the harm he does her…but she can never forgive him for the sacrifices she makes on her account." – W. Somerset Maugham_

The clock has stopped.

That's what woke me, sitting straight up in my bed. He used to tell me he would wake from nightmares just like that, covered in sweat and bolting upright. For a moment I glanced to the side, my lips opened to say his name. Then I paused, and shook my head. I only woke once to find him beside me, when the hands of the clock first began to tick.

So why was I surprised he's not here?

At first I wandered the house, looking for the source of my confusion. Everyone else was still sleeping, except I could hear Fleur mumbling in her dreams from Bill's room, moaning "Gabrielle!" Mum won't let them move out. She has two sons away from home, maybe never coming back. With Percy still refusing to acknowledge the family, and Ron chasing the tattered remains of a monster's human soul, it was a miracle she let me go to school at all. And now that school is done, I won't be straying too far from the Burrow until the war ends, or at least next school year. But I don't take it personally. The entire family is under the tyranny of her terror, even the twins agreeing to come every night because we can't bear to see her cry again.

It was when I walked into the kitchen, knowing I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, that I finally realized what was wrong.

The clock on the wall still moves, hands with Weasley faces pointing to mortal peril. It gives me an odd kind of comfort. At least if we're fighting for our lives, we're still alive. Fleur's beautiful face has been added, right beside Bill's deeply scarred one. I look at my own name, and swallow hard. Sometimes I wish there was a hand beside mine, with green eyes and messy black hair. At other times I'm grateful Mum didn't put him there. Then, even if he isn't coming home, I can hold on to hope for a little while more.

No, the clock that stopped never hung on a wall. It doesn't keep time, exactly. Not time for the rest of the world. Only time for me, and him. It doesn't tick inside my head, but in my chest. It hides where I have always hidden it, behind my heart.

I wish I could say it started the first time. Through a crowd, our eyes met, and he knew, and I knew. Like magic.

But it wasn't like that.

It wasn't love at first sight. It's not that simple. It shouldn't _be_ that simple. If it were simple, would we run to it, hide from it, live for it, die for it?

It didn't hit me like a bolt of lightning. It didn't hit him at all. At first, he was just a confused boy with untidy black hair and round glasses, all alone in the crowd.

Then I saw his eyes. As Ron disappeared through a solid barrier, something I'd seen every year as my brothers went away, those green eyes widened with delighted wonder. For a moment, through his eyes, the world I always took for granted became something knew, something special and…magical.

Too young to understand, I just knew I wanted to see the world like that, too.

Then Fred and George told us who he was. The Boy Who Lived. Famous Harry Potter. And he was transformed into something beyond a boy with different eyes. He became something shining and heroic, someone to admire.

But no…it didn't start there.


	2. The Beginning

_Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish I owned them all…_

_"When I wanted to call you and ask you for help, I stopped myself…" –Gomenasai, TATU_

I can't sit still now. I pace around the kitchen, picking up a plate that needs to be washed, then a piece of the bread Mum baked just last night. I shove both restlessly away. I can't sit still, but I can't focus on anything to keep my hands busy. I glance out the window at the dark, and my nails dig into my palms with frustration. Time seems to be slowing down, torturing me as I wonder what's happening, why my clock stopped.

Has something gone wrong?

Is he…?

Almost exactly a year after I first caught a glimpse of him, I turned a corner in my own house, and I saw them. Those green eyes, alight with that same wonder as he took in my home and all its magic. He sat at my table, and ate the same food as me, and laughed with my brothers. Somehow, in my silly little girl's head, he was a shining hero still.

At eleven, I didn't understand any of it. It was a jumble of confusion, of happiness and horror if he smiled at me, of longing for a glance and fearing his eyes all at once. I tripped over my feet, and struggled to talk, and blushed and hid my face and hated everything shabby and poor about the Weasleys.

I suffered through my first crush like everyone else does. Nothing special, really. Except to me.

Then things changed. The diary…the hours disappearing into numb darkness…the beginning of the fear…

I wanted to hide it. I didn't want him to know, to see the flaws in me. I couldn't let my hero see the imperfections of the darkness behind my eyes. To be honest, he barely saw me at all. I was just Ron's little sister.

Then I fell into that final freezing darkness, and I knew I was dead.

When I came back to life, his face was the first thing I saw.

I cried. I blubbered and apologized and confessed all at once. Harry was kind, even affectionate. He tried to make the tears stop, to make the fear and guilt stop. He held a shining sword. A phoenix answered to his call. He never looked so heroic.

And he bled.

Harry Potter was a human being. More than the Boy Who Lived, he was a boy who loved. Not me. Not then. But he loved Ron enough to risk everything for his sister. He loved Hermione enough to believe in her even when she couldn't tell him what to do. He loved Hogwarts enough to die to keep its doors open to people like him, who wondered, and searched, and, more than anything, loved magic.

And for the first time, I knew I wanted to be looked at with that wondering expression, intense and affectionate and joyful all at once. I wanted to be the magic in Harry Potter's eyes.

_That's _when it began.

The clock. Very softly, behind the tremulous beating of my heart, I felt it, and heard it. The soft _tick tick tick_ of my life as it intertwined with Harry Potter's.


	3. Waiting and Warnings

_Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish I owned them all…_

_"Cause I need time, my heart is numb has no feeling, so while I'm still healing, just try and have a little patience." – Take That, Patience_

Five years later, I walk a slow path back and forth, back and forth, across the kitchen floor with the regularity of a swinging pendulum. I want to have something regular, something to keep time to replace the silence in my chest. My hands knot together, because he's too far away to hold them now.

My clock didn't tick off seconds, throwing them into the past. It moved towards the future, cutting through the time between us, a constant companion. Like my emotions, it wasn't even. Sometimes, the ticking was soft in the background, easy to ignore. At other times, it rang out like ominous thunder.

At the Leaky Cauldron, when Harry lived for a day like another Weasley, the clock skipped along inside me. At school, as he was wrapped up in Quidditch and hating Sirius, it kept a mournful time to my studying and class. Living with him at the World Cup and at the Burrow, it sounded like a calypso beat inside my chest. When he smiled at Cho, the second hand hammered painfully against my ribs. Through dragons and merpeople, balls and mazes it was like nervous fingers drumming the table. As we gasped at the sight of Cedric Diggory's dead body, it picked up pace, every tick a warning of things to come.


	4. The One Who Understood

_Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish I owned them all…_

"_I'll bleed like the reed, fall with your knife, it's here I'll be with you." – Peter Murphy, Fall With Your Knife_

I shake off the feeling of dread that still fills me as I see Cedric lifeless on the ground. After that is the image of Harry in the hospital wing, covered in blood and too dazed to do more than nod when asked a question. And then there is the rage and frustration with that old fool, Fudge. And that idiot Percy…He's no Weasley, as far as the rest of us are concerned. Except Mum.

Through the cleaning of Grimmauld Place, his hearing with the Ministry, and his growing frustration, my clock became impatient. Following Hermione's advice, I learned to have fun with other boys. I thought Michael Corner would help chase that annoying ticking from inside me. And during our practices with the DA it softened, especially when Harry raised his voice to praise a hex I cast. But still the ticking became agonizingly loud when I heard him tell Hermione and Ron about Cho and the mistletoe. So I kissed Michael. Then, when he didn't live up to my clock's demanding expectations, I dropped him and tried out Dean Thomas' kiss. It was better. And for a while I thought maybe the clock was nothing but my imagination, and my life was meant for someone else.

But it was Harry who broke our deadlock.

My clock swung from sympathy to annoyance, then back, then back again as Harry hid from us the Christmas at Grimmauld place. After hearing the adults whispering about Voldemort and possession, I understood his fear. Oh, down to my soul I understood. But my anger with his constant snarling and self-pity burned away the last of my hero worship. I snapped at him, bringing him painfully back to Earth. And he looked at me, and suddenly I wasn't Ron's little sister.

I was the one who understood.

Through the fall of the DA, Dumbledore's escape, his need to talk to Sirius, and Fred and George's great finale, my clock became quiet, almost content to let things take their course. Boyfriends took a backseat to standing with Harry, even as a friend. Then came the fight with Umbridge, and Kreacher's betrayal. Blindly he raced to save his godfather, and we followed.

I followed.

Into the depths of the Ministry. Into the Department of Mysteries. I'm not sure any of the rest of us believed we'd find Sirius. We just couldn't leave Harry to go alone.

Then everything shattered. The stillness, the prophecies, the belief in our mission. We had been tricked, trapped. Our lives were in danger. And all together, as though all six of us were tied by the clock behind my heart, we looked to him. As I knew he would, he didn't fail us. Curses were shouted and the air filled with cries of pain and confusion, and my clock grew louder and louder in my chest. We stumbled and fell, got lost and found. I took every turn with faith, following that clock, knowing it would always lead me back to him.

It did.

But I only had a moment to feel relief through the pain in my broken ankle. Then the curse hit me, and I fell into darkness.

I woke to shouting voices, and a clock tolling like a death bell. I knew something terrible had happened, yet the feel of that heavy pendulum swinging in my chest gave me comfort. As long as it moved, he lived.


	5. Magic in His Eyes

_Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish I owned them all…_

_"This time, this place, misused, mistake, too long, too late, who was I to make you wait?" – Nickleback, Faraway _

I drop into a chair, and my head falls weakly into my hands.

Sirius…I liked him. I miss him now, sitting alone at the kitchen table like I'm sure he did for so many nights. I understand him now, too. For my own safety, here I stay, away from the danger of battle, away from the one person Sirius and I both missed. The person we both…

The month between the Order's warning to the Dursley's at the train station and Harry's arrival at the Burrow seemed strangely empty. My clock kept a steady time, never changing pace, whispering as though it knew a good secret I wasn't ready for. I wrote to Dean sometimes, telling him every day things. Fleur and the wedding… Hermione and Ron's current argument…the twins' latest invention…

But when Harry arrived, I forgot to tell Dean about it. In fact, I forgot to write him at all. So much was happening. What with playing Quidditch and helping Mum not kill Fleur and laughing at Ron and constant visits from the Order, I just didn't think about Dean. Of course all that had been happening before, but now, laughing with Harry to the sound of my clock keeping happy tempo, the world outside the Burrow didn't really exist.

Then school came, and Harry seemed determined to include me like never before. The clock picked up pace, impatient and hopeful all at once. I tried to ignore it, through shouting matches and triumph at Quidditch, through whispering girls throwing admiring glances Harry's way and Slughorn's incessant parties. Yet every time Dean put an arm around my shoulder, my clock picked up, like a friend tapping my shoulder to remind me I had more important things to do. When he kissed me, the pendulum rang out every second wasted. So I kissed him harder to make it shut up.

It didn't work, and I didn't shed tears for that break up. Instead I threw myself into Quidditch and life, and tried to tell myself Harry was just being friendly when he insisted he'd wait to walk up to the castle with me. I couldn't stand another disappointment. My clock wouldn't let me think that way, ticking louder and louder against my chest, pushing me to take the plunge.

In the end, he did it for me. I leapt into his arms, the thrill of victory in both our gazes, and suddenly the world no longer existed. There was nothing but Harry's lips on mine, his arms tight around my waist, as though he couldn't bear to let me go.

Then he pulled back, and I opened my eyes and smiled. Because Harry Potter was looking at me, intense and affectionate and joyful all at once. And I knew I was magic in his eyes.

It wasn't until we were walking out the portrait hole that I realized my clock had stopped.

For just a few weeks, my clock was still. No ticking, no counting off seconds until Harry came to me. Because he was with me, even when he was on the other side of the castle. He never left my thoughts completely, and judging from the little smile Hermione insisted he walked around with, I never left his. Even as he rushed off to join Dumbledore, he was thinking of me.

I close my eyes and try not to remember that night. Hogwarts, _Hogwarts,_ was under attack. I try not to hear the screaming, the chaos and confusion in the dark. I barely let myself recall that I was the one to pull Harry away from Dumbledore for the last time. I smile a grim smile as I know only I could have moved him then.

It doesn't matter now.

I knew it was coming, but still his words at the funeral cut me. I didn't cry. I didn't want that to be the way he remembered me. I wanted him to remember my eyes blazing with belief in him. He tried to explain. I took the words from him, said them for him, just to ease it a little bit, to help him however I could. He gave a helpless gesture and walked away.

And I heard my clock start again.


	6. Just One Last Dance

_Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish I owned them…_

_"Just one last dance before we say goodbye, when we sway and turn around around around, it's like the first time. Just one more chance, hold me tight and keep me warm, 'cause the night is getting cold and I don't know where I belong." – Sarah Connor, Just One Last Dance_

Across the room, I catch sight of a jumble of smiling, waving people from a picture frame. It was Bill's family from the wedding, with Fleur still squeezed in beside him. Percy is absent, but holding onto Ron's shoulder is Hermione, and pressed between me and George, his smile sheepish and uncertain, is Harry.

That summer was spent writing letters I never sent. The excitement of Bill and Fleur's wedding gave me something to think about, to push that dreadful ticking to the back of my head. Again it seemed steady, unwilling to change. The day before the wedding, I turned a corner in my own house, and I saw them. Those green eyes. For a moment they flicked towards me, and there was that look I had wanted for so long. Then he looked away. Only I seemed to notice he wouldn't look at me after that.

But a wedding is dangerous for two people pretending not to care for each other. Sometimes we just can't stop from being true to ourselves. The floor was mostly cleared, though Bill and Fleur still danced in the middle, ignoring the world. Tonk's fell asleep on Lupin's shoulder, and he gently carried her away to bed. Ron and Hermione leaned against each other, eyes drooping. Harry sat beside them, studying the floor so he wouldn't have to look at me. Even my parents had gone away to bed.

So I turned and looked to him. He winced as though he could feel my gaze, but he at least had the guts to look me in the face. Across the empty floor our eyes met.

And he knew.

And I knew.

And it hurt more than a curse ever had when I pushed myself to my feet and walked over to him. He resisted for a second, but I gave him that blazing look I know he can't resist, and he shook his head with wry defeat. I grinned and pulled on his hand, dragging him out onto the floor. I saw Ron roll his eyes and Hermione giggle, but chose to ignore the peanut gallery.

I had only ever danced that once at the Yule Ball with Neville. This was something different entirely. Every step was perfectly matched, and we moved in time to the ticking of the clock behind my heart. He spun me out, away, our arms stretching to keep even the tiny connection of our hands. Then he pulled me back. My hair swept out around me as I turned, and I almost laughed with triumph. He always gets distracted, staring at my hair. He caught me against him, a hand at the small of my back, the other knotted up with mine.

And the smile slipped from his face as we looked each other hard in the eye.

He tried to let go, tried to step back. I stepped forward, as close as I could stay to him. My free arm wrapped around his neck, silently telling him I wasn't going to let him go.

Not yet.

Not until I had to.

Those green eyes I've always loved flared with something brilliant, something I couldn't name but understood. He opened his mouth, but he couldn't say anything. He knew nothing would make me feel better.

So I pulled him closer, until his forehead touched mine. I gave him my hardest, most blazing glare, and said only two words.

"Come home."

We didn't care who was there. We didn't care that Fleur was watching with both eyebrows delicately arched, her face knowing. We didn't care that Hermione was grinning like an idiot. We didn't care that Ron was probably rolling his eyes and grumbling. We didn't care that Bill could have broken him in two. We didn't even care that my parents could have come back to see what we were all still doing out there.

I think if Voldemort had walked right into the middle of the wedding at that moment, Harry would have told him to wait just one damn minute. If he didn't, I would have.

I kissed him. He kissed me. We closed our eyes and held on tight, and pretended there was no war, no death, nothing but the soft music playing in the background and the feel of our hearts beating against each other. Even the ache from where he held my hand in a crushing grip seemed a comfort.

I don't know how long we stood like that. Again, there seemed nothing but stillness inside of me. No clock. Nothing but that burning feeling that always came from Harry's kisses.

Finally we admitted defeat to our bodies' demands for air.

We broke apart.

He stepped back, and I had to let him go.

He didn't try to give me words, words of comfort, words of assurance, words that might turn into lies. He would never lie to me.

Instead, he grinned, and, with a bravado I knew he didn't really feel, he winked.

And he let go of my hands, and walked away.

I couldn't sleep all night. I heard the rustle as the three of them prepared to leave. I heard sleepy murmurings, and the overly loud sounds of people trying too hard to be quiet. I almost giggled when I heard the thump and shriek of Hermione missing a stair and careening into Ron. For a moment, I heard footsteps outside my door. They paused, for just a few seconds. I lay still, listening to the soft breathing on the other side of that door, a breathing in time to the soft ticking of a clock.

Then something began to slide under my door.

Startled, I slowly rose, and walked carefully to see. I knelt, and lifted a piece of parchment. A blank piece of parchment.

Unless I tapped it with a wand, and vowed, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

A tiny gasp escaped my mouth, then a little giggle.

A flicker of a shadow under the door, quiet steps, and he was gone.


	7. Mortal

_Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish I owned them all…_

_WARNING: My theory on a couple of things in book 7, such as the identity of RAB, are in this chapter. Not spoilers, but well thought out hypothesis._

_"Even if you cannot hear my voice, I'll be right beside you, dear." – Snow Patrol, Run_

I rise again from the table, too agitated with memories to sit still. I walk to the fireplace, glancing automatically over my shoulder towards the stairs. No one knows what I concealed behind a loose stone there. I make as little noise as I can as I draw it forward. Very carefully, I pull out the small box hidden there, and replace the stone.

I place the box on the table and reach inside. My hand closes over something cold and sinuous. I draw out the thick, blackened chain. Dangling from it is the two pieces of a broken locket, the front carved with a serpentine _S._ It was the first of the packages I received, delivered by a nondescript barn owl at night to the Common Room window. I knew what it was as I hefted it in my hand. The swing of the pendulum inside me sped up in silent excitement. The first of the Horocruxes.

Slytherin's locket.

Inside the parchment packet it came in was a small slip of paper, with two words.

"Regulus Black."

Too bad Sirius never knew why his little brother died, or that he really was a bit of a hero. Someday, like Sirius's innocence, the world will know. Even if Harry can't see to that, I will.

Next I feel until I find something lumpier and misshapen. This was delivered from a winking Hagrid, slipped into my bag as I was leaving the changing room from a Quidditch match. The gentle giant congratulated me on another victory, gently clapped my shoulder, and gave a significant glance towards the yellow parcel as it disappeared into my Quidditch robes. My clock jumped almost into my throat, ticking so hard it seemed to tremble inside me. I grinned, kissed his cheek, and ran all the way up to the castle. Ducking into a secret passage, I checked to make sure the coast was clear before ripping the package open.

Now I hold it by the one handle left. A deformed cup, once delicately wrought from gold, now half melted with the heat of some powerful spell and the escape of a piece of soul. Barely visible is still the etching of a badger.

Hufflepuff's cup.

I hunted through the package for a full minute before I had to admit there was no message. Then again, the destroyed Horocrux was its own message.

Again I dip my fingers into the box, and again I find another treasure. Something cool and smooth gives way to a sharp edge. Careful, I find the handle, and lift it into the moonlight.

Wrapped in a truly ugly scarlet and gold scarf this time, with all the signs of Hermione's knitting at work, I found it tucked beneath my pillow in the dorms just days before the end of term. Silently blessing Dobby the House Elf, I yanked the wool free. I laughed aloud as I draped the scarf around my neck, rocking back and forth with the powerful, ecstatic swing of the pendulum, and looked to the second to last Horocrux.

It flashes in the starlight, a silver handheld mirror. The glass cracked all the way down the front as something escaped from within the depths. As I look at it now, I trace the contours of the handle. It is shaped like an eagle, and on the back is a beautiful illuminated _R._

Ravenclaw's mirror.

My hands pause over the last object in the box. It was delivered by owl…by a beautiful snowy white owl, directly to my bedroom window almost two weeks ago. I looked out the window to see it approaching like some spirit of good tidings. The clock in my chest grew to an almost unbearable volume, slamming against my heart with wild hope. The white owl remained for only long enough to take a breath, then winged away into the night as though afraid to leave her master for too long.

I find the small, rough envelope of folded parchment and tape. It is spotted with small rusty droplets. As gently as twelve days ago, and with as much trepidation, I turn it over and pour the two items into the palm of my hand.

Two snake's fangs lie against my flesh, glowing an almost ethereal, milky white in the moonlight. They are so huge I almost suspected a baby Basilisk at first. But I know they belonged to the snake Nigini.

The last of the Horocruxes.

And my clock rang with joy as I knew Lord Voldemort was a mortal again.


	8. An Army Again

_Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish I owned them all…_

"_Is this the answer to our prayers, is this what God has sent? Please understand this isn't what we meant." – Savatage, This Isn't What We Meant_

I close my eyes and clench my hands together, elbows resting on the table. Then I lean my forehead against my knotted knuckles in silent supplication.

The whole wizarding community can feel the end drawing close. Even with more arrests than in all the years of the last war combined, the number of thefts, betrayals, tortures, and murders has reached a terrifying high. I know, we all know, it will all peak with the death of a young man, or a monster. A sense of finality ripples through our world like the passing heat of a whispered curse, the feeling that soon we will all triumph or fall together.

For the first time ever, the four houses of Hogwarts became almost like one. With the death of our greatest protector still fresh in our hearts, we cast aside our differences in a sort of desperation. Without secrecy this time, Dumbledore's Army rose up again to answer the call to arms. The Patil twins battled and won their right to return to school. So did Seamus, and even Zacharias. Griffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs rallied together, and Dumbledore's name became a battle cry. Maybe we couldn't fight the Death Eaters, but we could do the one thing he would have wanted most. We could keep Hogwarts safe.

Then came the day Zabini walked up to me, a sneer on his face. He looked down his nose, and said in the most indifferent tone I'd ever heard, "Where do I sign up?"

Seven Slytherin names graced our list. Everyone shook their head at me, warned me not to trust them. But the words of the Sorting Hat's latest song rang in my head. "Stand together against the night, or watch these stone walls crumble to dust." There was warning to the ticking in my chest, but also a whisper of assurance. I took a breath, and took the plunge.

I still don't know how I became leader of the DA. But without Harry, without Hermione or even Ron, someone had to do it, and apparently, that someone was me, though I couldn't have done it without Neville and Luna for my lieutenants. Maybe it was me because I was everyone's last connection to Harry. Maybe it was for all the reasons Harry and I were connected. I don't know.

Even with all our work, not just defending the castle but teaching all the defenses Harry taught us and trying to unite the Houses, over the course of the year ten Slytherins disappeared from their dorm. Every time, there was no sign of struggle, no blood or bodies. It was strange how we all prayed that they had only joined the Death Eaters. Every tick of the clock seemed to echo with our final plea.

"No more death. Please, no more death."

So it wasn't that surprising that more than Slytherins cried as McGonagall told us the news. All three Malfoys were found dead. As the tears trekked down our faces, Ernie whispered, "At least they were together."

As my shoulders shook under the sobs, and Luna put an arm around me, I couldn't explain that half the tears were tears of relief. Anybody, _anybody_ could be on the stone slab for the funeral, so long as it wasn't my friend, my brother, or _him._

But the halls of Hogwarts were kept safe. Not even a House Elf was killed during our patrols. It was with pride that we all hugged and said our farewells, promising to write each other over the break. Even Zabini shook my hand briefly, though he dropped it like it was something disgusting after just a second. I suppose we can't hope for everything.


	9. Face the Dawn

_Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish I owned them all…_

_"The sweetest thought, I had it all, 'cause I did let you go, all our moments keep me warm, while your gone. All my thoughts are with you forever, till the day we'll be back together. I will be waiting for you." Within Temptation, Bittersweet_

So now I sit, playing aimlessly with my wand, my four treasures spread out on the table before me. There is silence in my chest, a silence as heavy as the longing that I've worn for over a year now. Without the clock to keep time, I just stare out the window towards the horizon, whispering over and over again.

"Come home. Come home. Come home."

In the reflection of the fading starlight on the glass of the window, I can almost see the face of the little girl who walked beside me down the aisle for Bill and Fleur's wedding. Little Gabrielle. I suppose the first time I really knew Fleur was a human being was the way she screamed and wailed over that small body, clutching her sister to her chest. And I cried, and Mum cried, and Dad and the twins and Charlie cried. Bill didn't cry. He just held her, his arms going around both beautiful girls, and rocked them, and didn't cry. He was strong, because she needed him.

After Fleur fell into a fitful sleep, Bill sat beside her on the bed, buried his face in his hands, and sobbed like a child.

And I closed my eyes and saw Harry's body in my arms as I screamed and wailed and pled with the fates for mercy.

And I began my chant.

"Come home."

Last year, as we managed to steal a moment between studying and Hororcruxes, we hid in a secret corridor from Hermione's admonishments to study and Ron's constant eye rolling. Seated between his knees, leaning back against his chest while our hands tangled up, he whispered little stories to me I'd never heard. He told me how he had learned of Wormtail's betrayal, and how he saved the coward's life from Sirius and Lupin. I knew all this, but not the conversation with Dumbledore. I had never heard of this bond between wizards, when one saves another's life. As he murmured beside my ear, I stared at our fingers, locked together, and I wondered.

Tonight, the silence telling me more than any message brought by owl could, I don't wonder. I know.

I have spent nearly twelve months trying to keep everything safe on the home front, loving and hating this damned clock. Every tick was a reminder that he was away, and yet that he was alive. I needed it, and I would have given anything to cut it out of my chest.

Now…now it's silent.

The clock behind my heart has stopped.

There is the telltale _pop_ outside the door behind me. I grasp my wand, fingers tightening on the wood as my hands shake. A glance out the window in front of me shows blood red light staining the dark sky.

The night is over.

The clock would stop for only one of two reasons. Either Harry is coming home…or he never will.

There are footsteps drawing closer to the door. I hear the handle turning. My breathing is racing, but still I can't turn around.

What will I see?

Green eyes full of wonder?

Or red snake eyes full of death?

The door is opening.

Whatever comes, I will face it with the bravery he would expect from me. That's why he loves me.

The same reason I love him.

Taking one last deep breath, I turn to face the dawn.


End file.
